Pigtails and Drumbeats
by Indigo Murphy
Summary: (AU where the Master survives 'Last of the Time Lords'.) The Doctor makes the Master human and replaces his identity with 'Henry Sharp'. But strange things begin to happen in his simple apartment. Children are disappearing, the nightmares that plaque his sleep are steadily worsening, and behind everything, a queer drumbeat still lingers in the darkest depths of Henry's mind...
1. Nightmares

**Hello. I'm Indigo Murphy, and welcome to my first story. I tend to write short chapters, but I hope you enjoy this introduction to Pigtails and Drumbeats.**

There is something very relaxing about drinking a mug of hot chocolate and watching TV on a Sunday night. However, that was not what Henry Sharp was doing on Sunday night. Instead, he was watching alien conspiracy videos on his laptop and eating crisps. Henry Sharp found these strange stories of crop circles and disappearing hospitals very fascinating. Of course, there was that bit about the Christmas thing, but he couldn't recall the memory, although everyone claimed they had seen it with their very own eyes.

Contrary to what many may think, Henry Sharp didn't much _believe_ in aliens. He thought everything that had 'happened' in the past few years were just very peculiar hoaxes. He more fancied the idea of mysteries and secrets than he liked to actually be subject to real evidence. UFOs and disappearing cows were his cup of tea.

"I better get to sleep", he muttered to nobody in particular, raking a hand through his short brown hair. A quick nightly routine later, and he was off to bed. But as the minutes ticked away, midnight quickly leaving to subject to the AM hours' rule, Henry Sharp lay wide awake. Hypnos refused to take him. He was restless again - and no amount of Nyquil could put him to fitful sleep. He tossed and turned, frustration increasing steadily into an intense desperation that brought irrational tears. He tugged blankets up and threw them down again, closing his eyes with determination only to fly violently out of bed a moment later, tossing his pillow across the room. After two hours of this, he grabbed his phone and turned to the Internet for help.

He did as the Internet told him to do, and lay in his most comfortable position. He put on some relaxing sounds he found on Youtube and tried not to fidget. He slowed his breathing, emptied his mind, and finally drifted off into a discontented rest.

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He was falling.

He was falling. He tried to grasp onto something, anything, but there was nothing. Falling, falling, onwards and onwards, and the worst part was he _knew_. He knew this would never end. He would fall forever, on and on for eternity. He would never sleep, he would refuse to die. There was only falling.

As he fell, thousands of faces flashed by. A young boy, an old man, a curly mop of brown hair, a younger face framed by blond hair, more and more, on and on, and yet there was something connecting them all. They were alike. It was more than that, though. They weren't only connected to each other - they were connected to _him_. He loved them. He hated them. He _despised_ them and yet he needed them.

Their hands reached out to him, seeking to catch him, to halt his fall. He tried, oh how he _tried_ to grab them, but every time his hand slipped through their fingers, and they simply watched him fall. He tried again and again but nothing worked. He just kept falling and falling, forever and ever, and the faces faded, leaving him, _abandoning_ him. He was alone, utterly alone, alone with himself. _Ha_. He was trapped. Falling. Trapped and falling with himself, forever. He laughed. He was laughing at himself, delighted by his own fear. For he was afraid, yes, so afraid and alone. His laughing echoed around him - and yet there were no walls. Only the walls of his mind.

Yes, his mind, this is where he was. Trapped in his own mind. Falling forever inside his own mind. He continued to laugh, and the laughter echoed inside his skull. Laughing, laughing. Falling, falling. And the drums. The drumbeat. It had been there, the whole time, and yet he had not heard it. But he _had_ , hadn't he? It was loud. So loud. The loudest sound, even louder than the laughing. Laughing and drums. Laughing and drums. Drums. Drums forever. Drums. Drums. Drums. Drums -

He was falling.


	2. Not Quite Seven

Henry Sharp awoke tangled in his own sheets, brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Already the dream was fading from his mind, and he decided to think little of it, shaking the last threads away and taking deep breaths. He got out of bed and was immediately startled by the chill in the room. It was winter and the heating tended to be a little unstable, but usually kicked back into life before long. Still, Henry felt reluctant to get out of bed, and when he did the wooden floor was like ice on his feet.

He undressed quietly, trying to ignore how his fingers were still shaking as he unbuttoned his shirt. _It's just the cold_ , he told himself. Yes, just the cold, of course it was. It was only the cold that sent a shudder down his spine, not lingering traces of adrenaline. After all, he was an adult, and would not be rattled by a silly nightmare. Surely.

He dressed in an ordinary outfit, tossing on a sweater to wear until the heating came back on. Soon the smell of coffee was filling his small kitchen. Henry loved the smell of coffee. Another thing he loved was closing his eyes and _listening_. Just listening to the sounds of the world around him. The bubble and gurgle of the coffee maker, the sounds of the city just outside his window, the sound of footsteps on the upper floors and in the hallway - and a loud knocking on his door. Henry opened his eyes and walked to the door. He wasn't really sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't a young girl with a gecko on her shoulder.

"Excuse me sir", she said with perfect poise. "Can you please help me with my physics homework? I'm stuck on question thirty-two."

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Later on, he would never really understand why he invited a little girl he barely knew into his apartment room, but he reckoned it had a great deal to do with curiosity. First of all, what seven-year-old would have _physics_ homework? A seven year old who frequently carried a gecko on her shoulder. Very odd. Second, what seven year old could actually _complete_ thirty-one physics questions before asking for help? There was this, and above all else something about the little girl just felt _off_. Not in a dangerous way, just strange. She seemed too mature, too polite. A seven year old who wasn't quite seven. And of course, he supposed he just felt bad for the little girl, asking around stranger's rooms for help. _It must be awfully awkward and scary for her_ , Henry thought. But that was just it. Again. The little girl seemed perfectly comfortable talking with strangers. Yet another detail to add to his curiosity.

So it was for these reasons that Henry Sharp found himself sitting across from a little girl with two ginger pigtails at his single round table, discussing physics. Her name was Harper Williams. Her favorite color was green. Her favorite subject was calculus - _calculus? Seven years old?_ \- and her gecko's name was Louis. All these things Henry learned as he drank black coffee and helped Harper with question thirty-two.

"May I please try some of that drink, sir?", Harper asked.

"Yes, I suppose. But I don't think you'll like it much. And please, call me Henry", Henry added as an afterthought, passing his mug to Harper. The little girl took a sip and scowled - the most expressive feature Henry had seen cross her face so far.

"You're right. Tea is better", Harper mused, sliding the mug back to Henry with a single finger as if it were a particularly nasty thing. "Louis doesn't like it either", she stated with a great deal of certainty after studying her gecko's face for a few moments. It was now, as Harper continued to use very grown-up dialogue, that Henry decided to ask a few questions.

"So… are your parents out early or something?", Henry asked, trying to be careful in the way that he approached the question. "Why can't _they_ help you with your homework?" He said this in a purely inquisitive fashion, rather than obtrusively or in a manner that suggested he would quite like if Harper would please leave him alone with his coffee and morning television.

"I asked my Papa if he could help, but he said 'Go bother someone else!", Harper imitated, finishing by giggling as she'd said something very funny. While Harper may have been at ease, needless to say Henry was a little alarmed. But nevertheless he tried to seem casual as he continued his line of questioning.

"And.. your mum? What did she say?", he asked.

"She wasn't here this morning. I think she's still out", Harper shrugged. Henry decided not to ask where exactly 'out' was, and instead directed his focus to physics homework. All of the answers came fairly simply to him, and soon they had worked their way through the whole packet - for it _was_ an entire packet of physics homework. _Not quite seven_ , his mind repeated. He would have to ask about her intelligence eventually, but he wasn't really sure how he was going to phrase the question.

Right when they were finishing up, a knock came on the door. Henry went and opened it, motioning for Harper to wait. He opened to door to find a young woman with dreadlocks and a picture. The picture was of a young boy with naturally curly hair and a wide smile.

"Excuse me, sorry - um, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you've seen my little boy anywhere?", the woman asked, her voice slightly shaky. Henry swallowed, studying the picture. The woman continued, fear evident in her body language. "He - he's six, and it's just, I haven't seen him, he wasn't in the room when I woke up, nobody's seen him…" Her hazel eyes were wide and desperate, silently begging Henry for an answer that would solve her problems.

"I… no, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, but I haven't. I'll keep an eye out for him though, I swear", he promised. The woman stayed for a moment, clearly trying to regain her composure. Henry just stood there awkwardly, unsure of what else he could say. This woman was honestly, very scared for her child, and Henry could see that.

"I wish I could do more to help. If you want to come in for tea of coffee -" he offered, but the woman interrupted him.

"No, I- I'm fine, thank you", she insisted, and closed the door herself.

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That night, Henry Sharp had more to think about than usual. His mind was filled with thoughts of red pigtails, missing children and physics. As he turned in bed, his mind turned over various pieces of information. Everything was a bit muddled, and he could already feel a blessed exhaustion settling over him. It was much easier to fall asleep than it had been the past few nights. But when he did, he wished he hadn't. He fought viscous battles with his dreams until his alarm clock woke him.


End file.
